


Paradise Lost

by lamentomori



Category: Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angst, Character Death, M/M, Memory Loss, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamentomori/pseuds/lamentomori
Summary: Is something truly lost if you don't remember having it in the first place? Is it better to relearn or to replace? Does it even matter?





	Paradise Lost

“Put it over there.” He’s not entirely sure where he is, or what’s happening. He’s suspended between to _people_ , at least he thinks they’re people, _hopes_ they’re people and not monsters or demons.  “ _Wait_ is that…what happened?”

“Well, the shit and the fan met. It went about as well as you’d think.” One of the people, he’s calling them people because they feel and now sound like people, says almost too loudly. He winces at the noise in his ear, and is lifted onto what feels like a bed. The moment his back hits the bed, he screams. Pain like he’s never felt before fills him, and he’s clawing, fighting with the people who’d carried him here. This pain makes him think they might actually be demons.

“Turn him over!” The voice he’d first heard says. It sounds annoyed. Quickly, people turn him over, which thankfully hurts a lot less. “Seriously?”

“You’re the only one we could think of.” He doesn’t recognise this voice, so he assumes it’s the other person. “Even if you can only save one, it’ll be something.” The voice is apologetic and pleading all at once.

“ _Something?_ Fine, fine.” A hand carefully touches his back, a touch that is filled with practiced concern and care. “Shh…shh…it’ll be alright. I’ll stop it hurting, okay?” The annoyed voice has turned soft and soothing. There’s a gentle prick in his arm, then…

Darkness.

The first time he wakes up there's someone or something watching him carefully, a pointed beak, and large vacant circles that are probably eyes. A mask maybe? Probably as the _eyes_ don’t blink, so there’s hopefully a person in it. The masked person is wearing a thick, heavy, black overcoat, watching him closely, even if he can’t see the eyes, he knows it’s watching him. It comes closer, a single finger moves a curl of hair from his eyes, as the mask seems to gaze down at him fondly.

“Get some more rest.” The same voice that had spoken before he’d passed out last time, another prick to his arm, then...

Darkness.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” A new voice. Different to the soft one that’s been telling him to sleep, different to the bird mask wearing man, more…he’s not sure, but if pressed he’d say more familiar. He thinks it’s one of the people who carried him here.

“I don’t know. A few weeks, a few months, a few years. Who knows with these things…it will take as long as it takes.” The bird mask comes close enough for him to really _look_ at it. The dark circles are made of glass, too thick and too black to see the eyes behind it though. The beak is tipped with glimmering brass, and inlayed with eyelets down each side as breathing holes.

“I don’t suppose it matters much for you though, does it?” Another different voice snaps, the second carrier probably. The mask is close enough that he could touch it if he could move his arms.

“Time is a very subjective thing, I guess.” The masked man murmurs, then there’s a soft sting, followed by what feels like a gentle caress and finally…

Darkness.

“Hey, Kenny.” A face is hovering in front of him as he lies face down on the very soft bed he’s been laying for an unknown, but feels like long period of time. “How you doing, Bud?” The face smiles at him, and he’s no idea who Kenny is, but is thinking it’s probably him. The voice is familiar now. It belongs to the first of the people who carried him here to speak that _night_ long ago.

“Who’s Kenny?” He croaks, regretting it as soon as a wince spreads over the face in front of him. “Where am I?” He asks instead, hoping to keep this conversation going a little while at least. He feels stronger than he has any of the times he’s woken up in this strange place, usually to the sight of the masked man moving around, humming softly, working on something he can’t see lying face-down on the soft bed.

“Well, that’s a start, right? He’s asking questions. That’s gotta be a good sign, Marty.” A second voice, the second voice from when he was first taken here speaks, and he supposes the person in the bird mask is Marty. It’s nice that one of the four of them definitely has a name now.

“Well, it’s a sign.” The bird-masked man comes into view, a pestle and mortar in hand. His head is tilted slightly to one side, and if he didn’t know better he’d say the mask was judging him and finding him lacking. The blank eye circles somehow look judgemental at least.

“Marty?” He tries, and the man nearest him breaks out into a grin.

“He’s remembering things! Good going, Bud! We’ll have you back on your feet and in the fray in no time!” The man seems incredibly pleased, but he’s mostly confused, everything is happening too quickly for him to follow properly. The masked man, _Marty_ , doesn’t come any closer, he stays where he is watching him, and his pestle still grinding whatever is in the mortar. The vacant black eyes of the mask are still judging him harshly.

“He’s _remembering_ things he just learnt, Matt. That’s hardly something to get excited about.” Marty sets the pestle down, and waves the mortar at Matt. “On the wound. It’ll heal it up faster.”

“Do we want it healed?” The only man whose name he doesn’t know, assuming his own is _Kenny_ , speaks, hovering behind Marty. He looks enough like Matt for him to assume that they’re related, based on ages brothers probably, which doesn’t help with his name, but it’s nice to notice something and make a deduction based on it all the same.

“Well, I need to finish the design, then it’ll take a while to collect parts, and to actually make it, and then we’ll have to…look, you want him to live right?” Marty sounds annoyed, and the unnamed man nods enthusiastically. It seems both men who brought him to Marty are _peppy_. “Then, first we make sure he doesn’t die of an infection.” At that, Matt starts smoothing whatever was in the mortar onto his back, which hurts. It hurts a lot. It hurts so much, that he can’t help but trying to squirm away from the pain.

“Kenny! Bud! You gotta hold still.” The unnamed man rushes over and pins him down, but Marty stays where he is, his mask clearly silently judging him still.

“I’ll give you a choice.” Marty picks a syringe up from the table beside him. “I can knock you out again, but too much of that and you might not remember _anything_ ever again, or you can lie still and suffer through this.” Marty steps closer, the silver syringe glints in the light. As much as it hurts, and it does hurt, Kenny lies still, not taking his eyes from the man in the mask. Finally, the judgemental look in the black eye circles goes, leaving them blankly watching him, which is much better than feeling like he’s disappointing the masked man. The syringe is secreted away into Marty’s coat. “It’ll be okay, I promise.” Marty carefully moves a curl from his eyes, and with his voice pitched low and softly tells him, “you’ve been through much worse, Kenny.”

Time doesn’t seem to have much meaning wherever he is. There aren’t any windows, but there is light. The source of which is hard to tell, because sometimes it flickers as though it were candles, other times it’s bright and clinical like in a laboratory. The interior of the room seems to change randomly too. Sometimes it’s a mass of shelves covered in bottles, jars, and plants, other times it looks more like a workshop, with tools on the walls and a drafting table in the middle of it. It’s strange, but Kenny’s in no position to question it. He’s not sure if he’s remembered that he’s called Kenny or if he’s accepted it, but he does remember The Bucks. What they are to him beyond friends, or how he knows them is a mystery, but he knows them, so that’s a win. Marty would disagree, if only because Marty seems frustrated with the lack of progress he’s making in regaining his memories. He seems nice other than that frustration, or at least as nice as someone who hides behind a mask and thick coat can seem. He’d like to _see_ Marty, but based on the way neither Matt nor Nick have commented on Marty’s wardrobe, and they seem inclined to remark or joke about _everything_ , so the mask must normal, and seeing the man behind the mask must be rare.

“Hey, Bud!” Matt is loud, so is Nick, but in terms of initial greetings it’s usually Matt’s cheerful voice that shakes Kenny from wherever his thoughts have wandered. Marty is generally disinclined to chat when he’s working, and he always seems to be working on something. At the moment he seems to be ignoring The Bucks in favour of his work. Matt appears in Kenny’s eyeline, what seems to be his default smile on his face.

“How’s it going?” Nick perches on the end of the bed Kenny’s lying on. “You been up to anything exciting?”

“Sure…nothing says exciting quite like lying in bed all day.” Kenny grumbles, which draws Marty’s attention for the drafting table.

“If you’re bored, I’m sure there’s some books you could read.” Marty’s attention returns to his work once he’s spoken, and Matt rolls his eyes.

“How’s things coming along, Marty?” He wanders over to where Marty’s sitting, peering at Marty’s work.

“We’re getting there.” Marty leans back in his chair, his mask tilts towards the ceiling, the hint of a beard is visible on his briefly bared throat. “You want a bath, Kenny?” He says suddenly. The mask’s blank eyes seem to be telling Kenny to say yes. This bath obviously is for reasons other than hygiene, although he’s no idea what those could be.

“Uh…that would be nice actually.” At that Marty stands, whispers something to Matt, and leaves the main room through a side door.

“Anything coming back yet, Kenny?” Nick taps Kenny’s leg lightly. Kenny shakes his head as much as he can lying on his stomach as he is, and struggles to sit up. Before he’s even close to accomplishing the task, Nick is helping him into a sitting position. “At least you’re looking better, right Matt?”

“Well, I mean he looks like he’s had more sleep than usual.” Matt chuckles. “You are looking better though. Marty’s been doing a good job.”

“I always do a good job.” Marty sounds bristly and annoyed when he comes back. “Take him to the bathroom.” Matt comes over, and settles on the side of Kenny that Nick isn’t on. They both wrap an arm around Kenny, and get to their feet.  “Careful!” Marty squawks as The Bucks haul him to his feet, jolting him enough to make him whimper in pain. “I didn’t spend all that time doing a good job healing him up, so you pair could break him again.” Marty comes over, batting both Matt and Nick out of the way, catching Kenny the instant he wobbles. “You’re alright.” Marty mutters softly, as The Bucks clear the path towards the bathroom. It’s a different path to a bathroom to the one Marty’s been helping him to usually, up some stairs and down a chintzy hallway. “I’m going to trust these two to make sure you don’t drown, and then we’re gonna take some measurements, then it’s back to bed, okay?”

“Measurements?” Kenny squints down at Marty as they enter the bathroom. The masked man is shorter than Kenny had assumed him to be, the mask, coat and his presence make Marty seem far bigger than he actually is.

“Yeah.” Nick grimaces at Kenny’s comment, and gestures towards the mirror on the bathroom wall. The reason his back has been in so much pain is suddenly, brutally clear. As an angel there should be two, brilliantly white feathered wings behind him, instead there’s one.

“What happened?” Kenny stares in horror, his one remaining wing stretches out a little, pulling the skin of his back painfully, which draws curses from Marty. The masked man starts dabbing at his back, where he supposes there’s the stump of his other wing.

“Yeah…you see, Bud, the fact you don’t know what happened, and until fairly recently didn’t know who you were never mind me and Nick…that’s what’s got us worried.” Matt pats Kenny’s shoulder, and meets his eyes in the mirror. “We found you mostly dead, and…we took you to Marty. He’s busy doing everything he can to make you better, and help us help you.”

“Which means I need to take measurements of your surviving wing, so I can make a replacement for the lost one.” Marty’s finished dabbing at his back, and retreats to the door. “If you need me…” He trails off, and leaves.

“So, bath time!” Nick grins at Kenny, and gestures to the only clothes he’s wearing, some loose pants. “We’re mostly here to make sure you don’t drown like Marty said, and I guess answer easy questions? Are we doing that?”

“I guess.” Matt’s sitting on the closed toilet, watching Kenny with heavy concern. “You manage?” Kenny nods slightly, surprised and glad he’s not fallen flat on his face already, but he is mostly clinging to the sink, staring at his reflection. In his mind he can see two wings, but the mirror shows him only one.

“I’m an angel, right?” Kenny grinds out, as he uses one hand to tug his pants down, and then shimmies out of them.

“Yeah, well half of one at least.” Nick chuckles, and is immediately at Kenny’s side, helping him into the bubble filled, gently steaming bath.

“You two are?” He lets his eyes close as he sinks into the bubbles, and immediately curses himself for forgetting the easily pained stump on his back, so jolts up right.

“Relax, Marty put something in there, some herby, wizard magic or something. You can lie back as much as you like, it won’t hurt so he said.” Matt flaps his hand at Kenny, indicating he should lay back once more. “We’re The Young Bucks, and we’re your friends. That’s literally the only thing that’s important about us.”

“Marty’s a demon, isn’t he?”

“Uh… _sure_.” Nick pulls an awkwardly uncomfortable face, and hops up to sit on the sink’s counter. “You’re taking this…well.” He changes the subject from Marty swiftly.

“I…I remember having wings.” Kenny smiles slightly, hazy memories of the wind in his hair, and the sound of his own wings beating drifting though his mind. He remembers that he’s an angel, that he could fly, that somehow, he met Matt and Nick, that they’re friends, that he remembers, that he _knows_. Marty being a demon is something he suspects, something he’s not entirely sure of even now, because Nick hadn’t sounded at all convincing, but for now he is an angel, Marty is a demon, and the Bucks are Matt and Nick. It’s not much in terms of knowing things, but it’s a lot more than he had, so for now it’s enough.

“You wanna get take a walk?” Some time, Kenny thinks maybe a few days a week at most, has passed since he had his bath. Marty is holding out a pair of shoes, and a bundle of fabric. “I weighted one side to try and compensate for the fact you’re off-balance.”

“Off-balance?” Kenny’s been getting stronger, strong enough to be sitting on a stool reading a book Nick had gifted him a few days ago.

“You’ve lost a wing…why do you think you lean to one-side when you walk and you’re balancing with the other one right now, you numpty?” Marty chuckles softly, and sets the bundle of clothes down on the table beside Kenny. “I need to visit a supplier, and I figured you have to be going stir-crazy stuck in here.

“A little.” Kenny starts pulling on the clothes. “It’s been…a while since I’ve been outside.”

“Yeah. A while.” Marty nods absently, adjusting the cuffs of his coat, and plucking an umbrella from the stand by the front door. “You want one?” He gestures to the umbrellas, watching Kenny putting the shoes on.

“Will I need one?” He straightens up, and grins at how balanced he feels finally. He’d never noticed how off his balance was until Marty pointed it out. “How long until you can get me a new wing?”

“Hmm…Well, the plans are finished…it’s all a matter of getting everything together, and then starting work.” Marty shrugs, his hand resting on the doorknob.

“How long?” Kenny asks as they step out into an almost deserted, dark, rain soaked cobbled city street.

“A while, I guess.” Marty shrugs once more with a chuckle as he opens his umbrella. Kenny has the miserable feeling that _a while_ is a specific as Marty is going to be on this matter, so he lets it go, and crowds under the umbrella with Marty.

“Where are we?” He doesn’t recognise this place, but really that means nothing. He more than likely wouldn’t even recognise his own home. “Do I have a house, or a room at least?”

“What?” Marty looks over at him, the mask managing to look bewildered in a way that Kenny has long giving up trying to understand. That mask can somehow change expression. It should be impossible, but he’s seen it with his own eyes, so he’s accepted it as fact.

“Nothing.” It doesn’t feel necessary to repeat what he said, and Marty doesn’t seem all that interested. He seems very focussed on getting to his destination, and avoiding the myriad of puddles on the ground. “Where are we though?”

“Would it mean anything to you if I told you?” Marty chuckles, shaking his head. “We’re not where we need to be yet.” Kenny bites his lip against complaining about being kept in the dark, trying to understand Marty’s reasoning for not telling and getting stuck on the idea that this must be Hell. Where else would a demon do it’s shopping but Hell, but he can’t quite marry the rain with the idea of Hell, he feels like it should be fierier at least.

“I’m not sure that’s the point, Marty.” Kenny mutters, and the demon laughs at him, leaving Kenny torn between annoyed at being laughed at and happy to make Marty laugh.

“What I mean is that you’ve _never_ been here before, and you’re highly unlikely to come back, so…” Marty shrugs, making the umbrella jump slightly.

“Were we friends, like me and The Bucks?” Kenny gives up trying to talk about their location, and decides to change the subject, which turns out to be a bad idea.

“No.” Marty answers quickly and finally. They walk in silence, passing no one on the wet streets, a few mismatched cars and horse-drawn carriages pass them, but no people. It feels a little off, but in a way that Kenny can’t quite put his finger on, and it makes his head hurt if he thinks on the matter too much. Eventually, Marty holds a door open, and ushers Kenny into the store out of the rain.

“Do I want to know?” A voice calls out from behind the counter, and Marty leaves Kenny at the door to go and hug the store clerk.

“Probably best not to really. Stick the kettle on, will you?” Marty fishes a packet of cookies out from a pocket in his coat, and sets them on the counter.

“You’re expecting everything on that list for a packet of hobnobs?” The store clerk laughs, and shakes his head.

“ _Chocolate_ hobnobs, I’m not an idiot.” Marty laughs.

“The jury’s out on that.” The store clerk disappears into the backroom. The store is a surprisingly normal drug store, although some of the items on the shelves seem a little out, making the store less a drug store, and more like a modern apothecary.

“Rude…although I think I can see your point.” Marty sounds snide, and Kenny can feel the weight of Marty’s gaze on his back for a moment. “So, I have biscuits, and I presume you have tea along with _everything_ I ordered?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The clerk reappears, and sets a steaming cup down on the counter in front of Marty. “Does he take tea yet?”

“No milk, thanks.” Kenny’s decided that this whole enterprise is not really his business. This is clearly one of Marty’s fellow demons, and as an angel Kenny probably shouldn’t be here. So, he’s taken to gazing out at the street which has filled with people as mismatched as the vehicles, Victorian ladies and young men in skinny jeans, overly groomed facial hair, and flat caps brush past each other. It doesn’t look _real_. He rubs his eyes, and takes the cup of tea that is tapped lightly against his arm.

“I’ll not be long.” Marty says softly, his mask managing to look apologetic. Kenny shakes his head, and offers him a smile. There’s a magazine rack in the corner, if people watching gets too boring he can read instead. The tea is too hot to do anything with but sip, but that doesn’t matter because the people are interesting enough, and the snatched snippets of conversation he can hear are mildly intriguing. The clerk, Jimmy he learns, seems to be an old friend of Marty’s, an old friend who seems damn near personally offended that Kenny is there. The reason for his offence remains unspoken, and Kenny decides that it’s probably better that he doesn’t know.

“Thanks again.” Marty sounds like he’s wrapping the conversation up, and Kenny turns to see the two hugging. The clerk pats Marty’s shoulder with the fondness of a dear friend, and meets Kenny’s eyes coolly over Marty’s shoulder for a moment before levelling him with a heavy stare.

“It’s a long way down.” Marty chuckles at the serious tone that little phrase was delivered, and heads towards Kenny.

“Same going back up.” Marty calls out over his shoulder as he leads the way out of the drug store. “Sorry that took so long, Havoc likes to talk.”

“He’s a demon, right?” Kenny huddles close to Marty once more, making sure the umbrella keeps the rain off, even though it means he’s pressed closely to Marty’s side.

“Yeah.” Marty nods, and hands the umbrella to Kenny. “I don’t mind getting wet, you take it.” The demon’s hat looks a little damp, but the fur trim on this particular heavy overcoat somehow manages to remain dry.

“He’s your friend?” It’s a silly question, but really Kenny just wants to hear Marty talking. They don’t often talk to each other despite living together. The demon is usually working, and Kenny is usually asleep. Recovery is a slow, and tiring process.

“Yeah, yeah he is.” Marty’s mask looks oddly upset, but Kenny’s no idea why. He doesn’t think this is an unpleasant line of questioning, but maybe it is. He doesn’t know anything about demon society or Marty for that matter. “So, did you work out where you are yet?” Marty changes the subject.

“You gonna tell me now? Because as I recall I asked and you told me it didn’t matter, because I’d never been here before and wasn’t coming back.” Kenny shakes the umbrella at Marty and laughs as the demon hops out of the way of the drops of water from the umbrella, ignoring the steady rain falling from the sky.

“I know you well enough to know that you’ll have a theory.” Marty mutters, pulling a handkerchief from an inner pocket, and dabbing at the blank eye circles of his mask.

“It’s Hell, right?” Marty laughs at him, and Kenny shakes the umbrella once more. “It is! Demons, mismatched people, cars, buildings…it’s Hell.”

“Hmm…I guess I can’t argue with logic like that.” Marty chuckles. Kenny catches his arm and pulls him under the umbrella out of the rain to stop his eye circles form getting wet again.

“If this isn’t Hell, then where are we?” The demon’s arm feels smaller than Kenny had expected, the overcoat is clearly _very_ thick.

“London.” Marty laughs, and shakes himself free. He flips the handkerchief, and it turns into another open umbrella. “We’re in London, Kenny… _Hell_.” Marty shakes his head with a laugh. “Next thing you know you’ll be saying that because you’re an angel you should be in Heaven.”

“Uh…” Kenny starts, but decides that he’s had enough of being laughed at by Marty for one day.

A few days later, when Kenny wakes up, The Bucks are in Marty’s home talking seriously with the demon. The conversation is obviously about him, because they fall silent once he shifts in the bed. A silent ending to the conversation is clearly shared between the three, as Kenny sits on the end of his cot.

“Morning, Bud.” Matt speaks first, his permanent huge grin on his face. “How you doing?”

“Okay...what’s with all the papers?” On Marty’s drafting table there’s several bundles of papers all tied together.

“Well, we figured you’re awake, and you’re walking, and you seem to be a little more like yourself.” Nick smiles at him hopefully. Marty shakes his head disapprovingly, and heads to the kitchen. The Bucks watch him leave, share a look, and turn back to Kenny. “We need you better, Kenny.” Nick sits heavily on the cot by him, and taps his thigh with one of the bundles of paper. “You were… _we_ are fighting a war, and we kinda need you back out there.”

“A war?” Kenny rubs his eyes, trying to process what Nick just said. “Why?”

“Eh…that’s not entirely important, to be honest.” Matt laughs, and gathers up the rest of the papers. “You have a read of these and see if anything comes back, and we’ll get back to work.”

“We’re fighting this war…but Marty isn’t?” Kenny stares at the stacks of paper Matt just handed him. Each one is neatly labelled and bound with a different coloured string.

“My involvement in this begins and ends with you.” Marty sounds sharp, like broken glass or knives. He hands Kenny a cup of tea, and then heads back to the draft table. “I’m gonna get started on this soon, so before too long you’ll be ready to get back to work.” With that Marty scoops his papers from the table, and leaves through a door Kenny’s never noticed before. The Bucks exchange another look, and then turn brilliant smiles on Kenny. It’s clear that they intend to spend a great deal of time there, and for once Kenny thinks he might get something out of them.

He does, but not what he’d hoped for. He’d wanted to know more about who he was, about his life, about how he lost a wing, but instead he learns about troop movements, and rations. He had no doubts that this information is more important to The Bucks, but he wants to know something of himself. He wants just one little thing about himself, so he has something he can use as a starting point, something other than his name.

A little after The Bucks leave, Marty returns, shaking rain from his umbrella. His coat is dripping wet, and Kenny wonders if he’ll take it off, but instead Marty looks at him, and the next his coat is bone dry once more.

“Did you have a good day?” Kenny asks, but solely gets an unimpressed blank look from the mask. Marty heads for his own chambers, and Kenny doesn’t see him again that night.

The next morning, Marty seems to have calmed down, making breakfast, and even sharing what he’d been doing yesterday. He’d been collecting various items he needed for Kenny’s replacement wing. Today they’re going to get the last item on Marty’s shopping list, and then tomorrow he’ll start work on the wing. After that Kenny supposes he’ll have to see if he can fly with one real and one fake wing. He’s not looking forward to the inevitable failures. He doesn’t imagine that this mechanical wing will be perfect the very first time, but the longer Marty has to spend getting it right, the more time Kenny has to work out what was going on in his life.

“C’mon, time to go.” Marty taps Kenny’s shoulder, drawing his attention from the missives The Bucks had left yesterday. He’s beyond grateful for the opportunity to get away from the reams of information that he apparently needs to remember so he can get back to their war, and whatever his role in it was. He’d like to know exactly why he was involved in a war, but that information is something both The Bucks seem reluctant or unable to share.

Marty ushers him out of the door with little protest, and unlike last time they left Marty’s odd little home, they’re standing on a crowded Asian looking market street. This time Kenny doesn’t bother to ask where they are. Marty would no doubt say something ridiculous like Tokyo, and Kenny would believe that no more than he believes the demon run drug store is located in London.

“I…I like the costume and all, but aren’t we going to stand out with you dressed like that?” Kenny glances over at Marty. His normal crow-like mask has changed to a more fox-like one, his thick, heavy overcoat changed for a more elegant yukata.

“Costume?” Marty chuckles, and fusses with his belt. “These are my everyday clothes…here at least.” He adjusts the mask, tilting his head slightly, making the mischievous fox-face look quizzically at Kenny somehow. “C’mon, we need to go talk to a man about some steel.” Kenny trails along behind Marty, transfixed by the bright colours, and loud chatter of the people around them. It seems as though Marty really doesn’t stand out too much. There are several people wearing masks, none quite like Marty’s but there are a few other foxes wandering around.

“Why a fox?” Kenny asks quietly, catching the hem of Marty’s sleeve, tugging on it, feeling out of place, and uncomfortable in the clothes he’s been wearing for so long. Unlike everyone else, he’s dressed so plainly that he does stand out, and people are staring at him.

“It’s a kitsune mask, not a fox.” Marty mutters, shaking his sleeve free. “I always thought it suited me.” Marty laughs at that, but says nothing more. Kenny has nothing worth saying in response, so he stays silent, watching the crowds, transfixed by the barking vendors and their colourful wares. This place seems as unfamiliar as the last they visited. It makes him wonder if there is anywhere that would seem familiar to him, other than Marty’s home at least. “We’re nearly there.” Marty leads them down a small street, that opens to a large courtyard. In one corner is a large smelter, and a sweaty, but well-muscled man is tending it. He looks over at them, and raises his eyebrow when he spots Kenny. “A favour for a friend of a friend, nothing more, nothing less.”

“Can you really call yourself a friend of a friend?” The man wipes sweat from his brow, and Marty laughs softly.

“Ask him, he’s sitting on your wall.” Marty tilts his head towards a pale, slightly blueish cat lounging on the wall of the courtyard. The cat sits up, and stretches before leaping from the wall. When it lands it’s a young, slender man with kind, quick eye, and cheeky grin.

“Enough of a friend for a little help at least, Okada.” The young man pats the large man’s shoulder, and hugs Marty tightly. “You’ve brought him, I see.” The young man comes closer, walking around Kenny, his grin still firmly in place.

“Be kind, Will. He is broken.” Okada sets his shovel down, and grabs a rag from a table near the smelter. “How much?” He starts wiping the sweat from his face, his eyes fixated on Kenny.

“ _Ah_ …I’ve no idea?” Marty laughs, and from the folds of his yukata he pulls the plans Kenny had seen on the table in Marty’s home. Okada looks at Marty incredulously, and Marty’s mask seems to look sheepish. “A favour for a friend?”

“There are favours, and there are debts.” Okada folds his arms, and looks over at Will.

“Uh…he’s a good friend, though…and I owe him a few of those too.” Will rubs the back of his head, and finally steps away from behind Kenny, coming to stand by Marty. “So, you’ll help my friend, pay my debts, and I’ll owe you one, Boss.”

“One…what’s another one to a list a mile long.” Okada shrugs, and levels Kenny with a harsh glare, then turns to Will. “Watch him.” Marty follows Okada into the building that seemed to appear from nowhere, leaving Kenny wondering where exactly they were. It doesn’t seem _real_ , but then again nowhere he’s been has seemed real. Not the sodden city streets they’d walked the other day, not the bustling markets they’d just passed through, not even Marty’s home seems quite _real_.

“You really don’t remember _anything_ , do you?” Will’s sitting on the table by the smelter, his head tilted to one side as he watches Kenny. “I heard from The Bucks, but I didn’t believe it, to be honest.”

“What did you hear?” Kenny tries to sound casual, but he thinks that some of his desperation comes through. It feels like months he’s been in the dark over who he is and what he should be doing. The only thing he’s entirely certain on is that The Bucks are his friends, and that Marty isn’t quite what he seems. The demon doesn’t quite _smell_ right. Will laughs at Kenny’s question, and ruffles up his own hair.

“Too much, I think.” He laughs again, watching Kenny carefully. “Do you remember _anything_? I know it was a long way down, but nothing’s stuck at all?”

“Long way down? I fell?”

“Kenny!” The heavy hands of Matt and Nick land one on each shoulder, drawing his attention away from Will. By the time Kenny looks back at where he’d been reclining, the cat-man has vanished, but based solely on the brief look of relief that passes between The Bucks, that was what they’d been aiming for. “So, Marty’s taken you out shopping, huh?” Matt perches on the table Will had vacated, obviously aiming to distract Kenny from whatever it is Nick is doing behind him.

“I don’t know that it’s shopping…he said we were here for steel…for my wing? I think at least…Marty is-“

“Evasive.” Nick claps him on the shoulder, and stands beside Kenny. “Good friend, but quite uncomfortable around the truth.”

“Aren’t you all?” Okada reappears, his eyes narrowed as he glares at The Bucks. “Take him and leave. The Villain has what he came for.” There’s a painful sting of familiarity in that glare, something that tugs on the parts of Kenny’s memories that are lying dormant in the back of his mind.

“Do I…have we met?” Kenny takes a step forward, approaching Okada. “I feel like we’ve met.” Okada shakes his head and sadly pats Kenny’s shoulder.

“We,” he gestures to himself then to Kenny, “the you that you are and the I that I am, we have never met. Heal, and we will continue from where the you that was and I left off.” The large man pulls Kenny into a firm hug, and gingerly pats him on the back. The hug is over quickly, and Okada nods awkwardly, heading back to his smelter. The Bucks usher Kenny away, talking amongst themselves solely because they seem incapable of being silent for too long.

“He was a demon?” Kenny rubs his temples, trying desperately to work out where the line between good and evil lies in this world. The little he knows, has him, an angel, as one of the good guys, and demons as the bad guys, but like everything in this world that doesn’t quite feel right, like there are a million shades of grey he’s missing out on. Marty is a demon, and he’s helping Kenny after all. Havoc was a demon and he helped too. Kenny’s not even see another angel, but maybe that’s what the cat-man, Will, meant. Maybe he’s a fallen angel, but he’s seen those. He can remember watching angels fall, can remember watching pitch black seep over their wings, the feathers changing from brilliant white to void-like darkness. His feathers are white as fresh fallen snow, he’s not fallen.

“Ah… _yes_.” Nick chuckles, and silently urges Kenny to move a little quicker. “We’ll go with yes because it’s easier for now.” Easier is a word Kenny is steadily getting sick of, he wants the full truth even if it is complicated, because if nothing else at least he’ll have it. The full truth might make all the messages about supplies, troop movements, and enemy lines make more sense. The Kenny he was, the Kenny he’s trying to remember, was involved in a war, but he’s no idea on why, or against who, or even where.

“Hey, Bud, it’s okay.” Matt nudges his lightly, snapping Kenny from his thoughts. “It’ll come back, or it won’t, and if it doesn’t then…” He trails off, his eyes scanning over the crowd. “Then we’ll deal with that then.” It’s not exactly reassuring, but there’s nothing else for it, Kenny supposes. He’ll remember, or he won’t. Far from comforting, but very true.

“Marty?” Kenny’s been thinking on what he and The Bucks had talked about, thinking about the possibility that he will never remember who he was properly, and he _needs_ to ask Marty about it. It feels like there’s a million things he needs to ask Marty about, but when it comes to talking to the demon about serious matters, Kenny shies away. The longer he spends with Marty, the more Kenny wants there to be harmony between them, the more Kenny _likes_ the little harmony that is between them, and the less he wants _anything_ to disrupt that. What feels like a long time ago now he asked Marty if they had been friends, and the demon had answered _no_ emphatically. At the time, he’d accepted that no questions asked, but now he thinks maybe it was an _easy_ answer. He feels like he knows _something_ of Marty, something that Marty isn’t pleased about. He’d like the answer to that problem, but for now there’s the _easier_ question of what will happen if he doesn’t remember who he was fighting in his war. He’s almost certain it’s his war he was fighting. He can’t say why, but Kenny’s sure that his war was started for personal reasons. Marty looks up from the tiny cog he’s fiddling with, and Kenny forces his most brilliantly friendly smile to his face. Marty’s mask looks unimpressed. “Can we talk?”

“Not right now.” Marty shakes his head, and sets the cog down. “Right now, why don’t you pause.” Whatever Marty had expected to happen when he said that doesn’t, but Kenny stays still watching the demon carefully anyway. Marty sighs softly, pushes away from the draft table, and pulls his overcoat off. “Fuck me I need to sleep.” He mutters, finally pulling the mask off. It takes every ounce of self-control Kenny has to not react to the revealed demon. He is beautiful. Painfully beautiful. The mask is set down on the draft table, and Marty leaves the room, heading to where he sleeps. With Marty out of sight, Kenny lets his breath out, and tries to calm his heart, which is busy trying to pound out of his chest. There’s no doubting the type of demon Marty is. The looks, the scent, Marty is very much an incubus, which raises the question of why is he so entrenched in all of this. Incubus aren’t the sort of demons to embroil themselves in the affairs of angels, if only because their pheromones don’t affect angels, so their seduction abilities are all but worthless. Marty might be a mystery, but he mask isn’t. The reason for it is obvious now, firstly it covers Marty’s pretty, distracting face, and secondly the beak is packed with herbs designed to subdue his natural pheromones. An incubus that wants recognition for his own talents based solely on those talents. Admirable, if a little odd.

He leaves the main room of Marty’s odd home, following the demon as quietly as he can, finding him finishing dressing for sleep in his bedroom. Out of the heavy coat, and distracting mask, Marty seems small, but not fragile. The size the coat gives may be missing, but the demon somehow manages to not look vulnerable, at least until he comes closer to switch off the light, and Kenny pins him to the wall.

“So, is this your real face, or just what your nature thinks will appeal to me?” In the darkness, Marty looks wide-eyed and afraid. Even though he’s beginning to regret so forcefully violating Marty’s personal space, Kenny’s fingers can’t seem to stop from carefully the mapping the features of the face before him. As far as demons go, even as far as incubi go, Marty is beautiful, his features at once sharp and soft, delicate but solid.

“That’s not...this is me.” Marty looks away, and something inside Kenny is stung at the apparent rejection of an incubus. “It’s nice to see you being more angel-y though. Before long you’ll be angel-ing properly again.” Marty’s smile is beautiful but false. The fear that had been in his eyes has been replaced with a healthy dose of muted irritation, and a large slice of contempt. He needs some distance between them before he does something he’ll regret, and to let the demon get the rest he so clearly needs.

“Go to bed.” Kenny steps back, forcing his hands to his sides and nods towards Marty’s bed. He feels more in control with some space between them, but his fingers ache to skim over Marty’s smooth skin once more, to feel if the hairs on his chin are as soft as the few stray curls that grace his forehead. “Sleep and let me do what’s in my nature.”

“Huh?” Marty looks painfully like he’s going to say no, but he relents beautifully and slips under the blankets of his bed. Kenny fusses with them for a moment, and then lays down behind the demon on top of the covers. He’s not sure if it’s foolishness, need, or plain desire that have him laying down with Marty. He wants to be close to the demon, and the root cause of that want is irrelevant so long as it’s met.

“I’m an angel, it’s in my nature to guard. So, sleep, and I’ll guard your dreams.” It’s as close to an honest statement as Kenny can bring himself to give Marty. The demon doesn’t need to know that he intends to gaze upon his sleeping form until he wakes.

“Uh...it’s fine, really.” Marty laughs awkwardly. Kenny turns to lay on his side, pressing himself closely to Marty’s back. He’d not planned for that, but the demon seems to fit perfectly against him, as though he had been made to be pressed against Kenny.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He all but aches to draw Marty into his arms, but the blankets prevent it, which is probably a good thing.

“I’m not in danger.” Marty grumbles. He’s horribly tense. it’s almost an insult that an incubus is this uninterested in Kenny, almost but not quite because he can smell desire in the demon’s scent. Marty is restrained, not uninterested.

“Not with me here.” Kenny let’s his lips graze the skin of Marty’s neck. He shivers slightly, but his restraint is impressive.

“That’s…” the demon sighs, and shifts, tugging the blankets up and over his head. “You understand so little I’d laugh if I wasn’t sure that in the end I’ll cry.” If it was an insult or an exhortation to be left alone Kenny isn’t sure, but that statement feels more real than anything has in a long time. He moves away from Marty, suddenly horribly aware that he’s violating the unspoken trust between them. Marty is an incubus but whatever it is that draws people in shouldn’t work on angels, certainly not on Kenny who has been in his company for so long, yet there he is pawing at the demon like he was under his spell. He lies on his back staring up at the ceiling, trying to pick out any features from it in the darkness, trying to keep from examining his actions too closely. Marty’s breathing settles into a steady rhythm, and Kenny lies there listening to him breathe for a long time.

“Long ago...I...are you asleep?” Kenny wanted to say something else, something that’s been bubbling in the back of his mind but refusing to be voiced. Marty moans softly and turns over, coming closer to rest his head on Kenny’s chest. The words that had been on the tip of Kenny’s tongue die at the gentle contact between them. This is real. This is _painfully_ real.

“I’m asleep.” The demon murmurs. What he’d wanted to say will wait. It will wait, because it seems most things, even time, will wait for Marty.

He can’t say that he wakes up in the morning, Kenny’s not sure mornings exist in Marty’s odd home, but he wakes up some time later in Marty’s empty bed. He can hear banging and clanking from the main room, so he supposes that Marty has started making his replacement wing in earnest. The demon’s mask is back on, but the heavy coat remains on the rack where he left it earlier, instead Marty’s wearing some kind of heavy looking apron.

“There’s tea in the pot.” Marty calls out, and returns to his work. The main room has changed once more. The room is completely bare save for a welding bench in the centre, flanked by two tables, one covered in metal and the other home to what looks like the beginning of Kenny’s replacement wing.

“Is there anything I can do?” Kenny approaches the table slowly, his hands raised so Marty can see them. He’s not sure why, but it feels important that Marty knows he’s no threat.

“Stay out of the way?” Marty laughs, and pushes his mask from his face. Somehow, he’s even more beautiful. “Really, unless you’re good with a welding torch there’s nothing for you to do.” He offers Kenny a smile. A smile that seems to bypass any part of Kenny that’s reasonable and go straight to his groin. “Get us a cuppa, will you?” Kenny has never been more grateful to be told to go and fetch tea in his life.

Time really does have little meaning for Marty. He has the ability to pause it for hours at a time. It seems that whilst he was still recovering, Kenny was affected by these _pauses_ , but now that he’s better his angelic gifts grant him immunity from Marty’s control over time. Which does mean Kenny has extra time to read the regular missives The Bucks bring him whilst Marty makes his wing. The demon is efficient when it comes to construction. He moved from the frame to the minutia very quickly. The tiny cogs and gears seem to hold Marty’s attention far more than the large _bones_ had. It means that the demon tends to sit quietly absorbed in his work, while Kenny pretends to read the missives, and mostly watches Marty work. Now that Kenny’s seen him without the mask, the only time he wears it is around The Bucks, and that mostly just seems to be habit. It’s at once a blessing and a curse that Kenny is permitted to _see_ Marty. he demon’s beauty has the power to enthral Kenny, but he supposes that’s just the way of an incubus. There’s very little Kenny can do in the face of that gift, so he handles it as best as he can. The demon is beautiful, captivating in a way that Kenny can’t remember anything else being, yet the only time it’s truly a problem is when they’re sleeping. The main room refuses to offer Kenny the cot anymore, because it’s not changed since Marty started working on his wing, so they’ve been forced to share a bed. Each night it grows harder to keep from pinning Marty to the mattress and having his way with him. He’s sure the only thing that stops him is the fact the Marty refuses sleep until he’s close to collapse and is unconscious as soon as his head hits the pillows. That doesn’t stop Kenny from watching him. It is in his nature to guard, and as soon as there is any sign of Marty’s sleep being troubled, he reaches out to soothe the demon. It’s perhaps rude, or uncivilised, but he feels compelled to bring a little comfort to Marty. The demon is doing so much for him, that this tiny act feels like the only thing Kenny can do in return. The depth of the debt he has for Marty is immeasurable. He owes the demon his very life. Guarding the demon’s sleep is a tiny payment.

Once the wing is built, the process of testing it begins in earnest. Surprisingly, Kenny’s hopes, or maybe fears, that Marty would need a long time to adjust prove to be wrong. The testing then leads into attachment surgery, which means Kenny gets his cot in the main room back. He misses sharing a bed with Marty, but is grateful that Marty clearly used his time control gifts to speed up his healing time. It’s nice being balanced again. He actually feels more like himself, as much as he can at least. Having two wings once more brings back a single memory, and that is he should have a sword. The moment The Bucks returned his blade to him, Kenny felt whole. As whole as he could feel without a lot of his memories, but he felt wholer than he had at least.

With his sword returned, The Bucks spend more time with him. They work him hard, having him practice with his blade for hours, sparring with them for hours more. It’s clear they’re trying to prepare him for war once more, and oddly Kenny adores it. He feels comfortable with a sword in his hand, and an opponent in front of him. It feels natural to dance with death in this way. Marty never joins them in these training sessions.  It seems the demon has done all he can for Kenny, and now he merely provides a roof, and a bed. The cot remains in the main room, but Kenny finds himself sneaking to Marty’s bed most nights to guard the demon’s dreams. They’ve been worse than before. He’s sure that Marty’s awoken briefly a few times, if only because the demon’s eyes have opened. Not that it appears that he can see, but he has definitely looked through Kenny more than once.

“Do you often watch me sleep?” It had seemed like an ordinary night, but Marty talking is very much unusual.

“You sleep poorly.” Kenny mutters, turning his face from Marty’s to the other pillow. “I...this is the least I can do for you.” He turns to smile at Marty. The demon reaches for him, drawing him into a tight embrace.

“Nothing is the least you can do.” Marty’s voice is soft, little more than a whisper. If Kenny’s hearing wasn’t as good as it is, he’d have never heard those breathed words. Marty’s fingers pet through Kenny’s thick curls gently, with what feels like practiced care. “Nothing is what you _should_ be doing.” If Kenny could take the strange melancholy from Marty, he would. The demon’s tone should never be laden with woe as it is.

“I couldn’t do that.” Marty huffs in amusement at Kenny’s earnest statement, and shifts, drawing the covers back, ushering Kenny under them. He can feel the weight of Marty’s eyes on him. It feels like a great and terrible responsibility has been offered to him, but Kenny shoves that thought to the back of his mind, and leans over the demon. His nose grazes Marty’s lightly, his hands slide under Marty’s bare shoulders, pulling him up into a kiss that Marty breaks quickly.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” He murmurs. His eyes drift closed, and his body falls limp in Kenny’s arms. He started this by offering Kenny a spot under the covers, but it seems the demon has changed his mind as quickly as he made it up.

“Do you want me to stop?” Kenny pulls away a little, meeting the demon’s eyes in the darkness. The conflict in Marty is obvious, and as much as Kenny wants him to come to the _right_ answer on his own, he can’t but trying to sway Marty’s decision. He leans down and brushes a kiss to Marty’s throat. “Tell me to leave you, and I will. Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll go.” As much as he knows Marty’s pheromones can’t affect him, Kenny feels unlike himself, or at least unlike the self he knows. Perhaps these actions would be very fitting for the self he was before he lost his flesh wing and gained his mechanical one, but for him they’re strange. Marty stares at him, and takes a deep breath.

“You know so little.” He whispers into the kiss he gives Kenny. Kenny pulls him closer, pressing himself as firmly against Marty as he can. The demon’s legs part, letting Kenny settle between them perfectly. Every concern he’s ever had, every thought that isn’t focused on the demon in his arms vanishes. One hand moves to prepare Marty to take his cock, other wraps around his own length. “Nothing…uh…” Marty’s breath catches, and Kenny nips at his throat harshly.

“Nothing matters but this.” Kenny laves at the soft skin of Marty’s neck, earning more moans from the demon as his head falls back against the pillows. “Whatever dire warnings you have, they don’t matter.” Marty’s arms finally wrap around Kenny as he enters the demon’s welcoming body. Kenny pulls Marty as close as he can, his cock buried as deeply as he can get it. Marty keens softly as Kenny rocks gently against him.

“Make this matter then, Kenny.” There’s an edge to Marty’s voice, a dare, a tease, a taunt that sparks a flame in Kenny. He keeps his thrusts shallow, rocking his hips into Marty’s drawing more of that soft keening noise from him. “Don’t tease me… _please_.”

“I want to tire you, Marty.” Kenny’s voice is gruff, so low he can feel it rumbling in his own chest, and he feels the effect on Marty instantly. The demon’s body tightens around him, a shiver runs through him. “I want you to sleep as deeply as my cock is in you.”

“Then use that cock.” Marty squeezes his passage around Kenny. His nails dig into Kenny’s shoulders, his legs tighten around his hips.

“You’d have me take you in silence?” Kenny asks softly, his breath ruffling a few of the loose curls of Marty’s hair. “You’d rather that than me tell you how good you feel, or how beautiful you look?”

“I would rather you use your mouth for better things than talking.” Marty pulls Kenny into a frantic kiss, and use his little leverage to roll his hips against Kenny’s. “I would rather you kiss, and _fuck_ me.” Kenny decides against making a verbal response to Marty’s crude request. Instead, he responds with compliance. He thrusts into the demon firmly, using every ounce of strength he has to drive into Marty’s body. The demon moans in pleasure, his nails digging into Kenny’s flesh once more. The pace is set then. Hard, and thorough, if not fast. Kenny intends to make Marty remember this night. He wants to leave his mark on the demon’s mind, as well as his body. He has already left several marks on Marty’s throat, but the demon seems reluctant to leave any of his own, opting instead to pierce the skin of Kenny’s shoulders, and leave heel shaped bruises on his hips. The demon cums beautifully, his head back, his much-marked throat bared to Kenny’s teeth and lips once more. His own orgasm comes as a reward for a job well done, Marty is as tired as Kenny could have wanted him. He collapses against Marty’s body lazily, moaning in satisfaction when the demon starts petting his hair, murmuring sweet, praising nonsense into his ear. They lie entwined for a long period, and once he’s pulled free from Marty’s body, Kenny draws the demon to him, eager to have him in his arms again. Kenny presses a kiss to Marty’s damp hair, and strokes over his back.

“Thank you.” He whispers into Marty’s ear. The demon tugs away from him then, and shakes his head. Beneath his just cum contentment, there is horrible pain, and it pricks something deep inside Kenny.

“We shouldn’t…I…” Marty sighs, and turns his back to him. It is clear that to Marty this was a mistake. “Go to sleep. Please, just go to sleep.” It should feel like rejection, but it feels more like a plea. This isn’t something Marty wants to talk about now, and Kenny has the grim feeling this isn’t something the demon will ever want to talk about. If Marty has his way this will be dismissed, and Kenny isn’t sure how he should feel about that yet. He strokes a finger down Marty’s spine, but doesn’t make any effort to pull Marty back into his arms. For all his exasperation with _easy,_ in this instance it’s preferable to the alternatives. It’s preferable to let Marty turn away from him than to realise that this only happened because Marty is an incubus and even though Kenny’s an angel continued exposure to Marty’s powerful pheromones has ground his resistances down. This is the horrible thought that occurs to him as he stares at Marty’s back. The demon is as helpless against his nature as anyone else. His nature overrides his own desires to be recognised for his own talents so much that most of the time Marty wanders around in that mask stuffed with herbs to hide what he is. If this is the case, then incubus isn’t to blame, but clearly he has taken all the blame on himself. The awful feeling that he might have forced Marty into this keeps Kenny awake for far longer than he’d ever admit, but he feels as though a little insomnia is preferable to having taken Marty against his will.

“They need you to be ready.” Marty’s leaning against the doorframe when Kenny wakes up. The demon is naked save a loose pair of pants that hang dangerously low on his hips, and a pensive expression. “I said you might be able to fly, you might be able to swing your sword, but you’ve no idea why.” Marty rubs a hand over his face, and turns to Kenny. He looks desperate, begging Kenny for something, but he’s not sure what. “You don’t, do you?”

“Kota.” Kenny sits on the edge of the bed, and glares at the floor. The word left his mouth before he knows what, or who it is, but he knows Kota is why he’s fighting, Kota is _who_ he’s fighting. The only thing that matters in this _war_ is Kota. Everything else, all of those troops, all of those supplies, and lives, _everything_ else, even The Bucks, none of it matters. The reason for this war is personal, the reason for this war is a fellow angel by the name of Kota Ibushi. That much Kenny knows, and it’s more than he’s known in a _long_ time. Marty turns away with a sigh, staring at the floor a mournful expression. His eyes are narrowed, his face drained of colour, his hands clenched.

“I’ll let them know you’re ready then.”

The battlefield is vast. He can see, and worse hear, people fighting to their deaths. It’s infinitely more disturbing than all the missives, and the little The Bucks had told him, could express. Hearing the clang of swords, the screams of the wounded, and the last gasps of the dying is terrible, but the smell is the worst. The stench of a battle is the worst thing Kenny’s ever encountered, and he will be glad to be away from it, as soon as he dispatches Kota.

“So, what’s the plan?” Marty’s focussed on the battlefield, and honestly, Kenny’s grateful for him coming. The demon will be an unexpected tool against Kota’s angelic army, a tool he hadn’t expected, but is going to use to his advantage. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little concerned about the demon getting injured, but he’s sure that has to be the influence of Marty’s nature. An incubus would try everything in their power to stay safe, especially after that one night, _especially_ after they slept together. That one act _must_ have entangled them in unexpected and complicated ways. At least that’s what Kenny tells himself, but like so much in his life that doesn’t feel quite right, yet there’s no asking Marty on the matter. The demon is disinclined to talk to him in general, never mind about that night. Instead, as soon as they arrived Marty busied himself seeing to the wounded. This is first time since they’ve been here that Marty has been with speaking distance of Kenny.

“Well, you and the others are gonna take care of the army, and I’ll deal with Kota.” Kenny glances over at Marty, and pauses. The demon’s face is utterly blank, apart from his narrowed eyes, and pursed lips. Offended isn’t something Kenny’s seen Marty be before, but there’s no denying that in that moment he is horrible, deeply offended. But that’s not what has Kenny freezing up. Incubi don’t have feathered wings, they certainly don’t have void-like black feathered wings. _This_ must be Marty’s true form. So far from his home, he must have run out of the herbs he uses to mask himself, leaving him exposed for what he truly is.

“I’ll get started then.” With puff of smoke, and a subtle hint of sulphur, Marty vanishes, leaving only a single, sad black feather floating towards the ground. Kenny plucks it from the air, considering the dark plume thoughtfully. The Bucks had taken him to Marty for a reason, a reason far bigger than saving his life after Kota took a wing from him. They’re entangled, deeply entangled, but how exactly he has no idea. He’s not sure anyone does, apart from Marty himself. The mechanical wing Marty crafted for him whirs softly as he stretches it out. Incubi don’t have wings like Marty, but fallen angels do. He’s beginning to resent The Bucks trying to keep all their explanations simple, and Marty for offering none in the first place. Perhaps, he should have told Marty that the plan was whatever he wanted, that he’d fulfilled his duties to Kenny, and was free to go. He could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he’d just not let Marty come with him in the first place. His life would be easier if Marty was just a pretty incubus, but he’s not. Marty is beautiful fallen angel, and there’s almost undoubtedly a horribly good reason he was taken to him. Kenny considers the black feather a moment longer before tucking it into the white feathers of his remaining wing. This mess is a matter for later, for once Kota’s head is on a pike, for when he has time to parse it all out.

“I’ll put you back where you belong later, feather.” Kenny flexes his remaining wing, and can’t quite keep the smirk from his face. That one black feather stands out brilliantly against the plain white, as obvious and blatant as Marty himself. Maybe the feather was one final gift from Marty. A final reminder of the debt he owes him, or maybe it was the promise of an explanation, either way he’s going to give this feather back.

Finding Kota isn’t difficult. Kenny has the grim feeling that he could find Kota anywhere. The threads of fate are more like chains lashing them together, but the other angel seems utterly unimpressed when Kenny finally reaches him. It takes Kenny dispatching the single guard for Kota to do more than look at him like an interesting insect. He draws his sword lazily, and points it at Kenny.

“This is finished.” Kota sounds and looks bored more than anything. A horrid bitterness fills Kenny. He remembers this place. He remembers a very similar scene. He remembers the feeling of that blade. He remembers and wants Kota to at least give some indication that he remembers too.

“No.” Kenny draws is own sword, a smirk stealing over his lips. “It’s not.” Kota sighs, sadly shaking his head.

“There is nothing for us to fight over.” He starts to move, falling into step with Kenny, as he starts stalking around his enemy. “If this a fight for your honour, or something equalling stupid…I meant no offense to _you_ , Kenny.” Kota easily taps Kenny’s sword away as he lunges for Kota’s jugular.

“Honour! Don’t you talk to me about honour.” Kenny snarls, trying to remember anything about Kota’s fighting style. The other angel sighs once more, and taps his blade against Kenny’s. He’s playing with him. This isn’t serious to the other in the least.

“Do you even know why you’re so angry?” Kota taps Kenny’s blade again, and dances back from another angry thrust. “There is no point in this, Kenny.” With a flourish Kota bats away a third attempt at his life, and offers Kenny a smile. “Come back home, and stop this nonsense.”

“Tell me one thing.” Kenny lets his sword droop, lets Kota come closer, leans willingly into the gentle hand that cups his cheek. It would be so easy to fall into Kota’s arms, to let him draw Kenny in the way he’d thought Marty had. Kota was, _is_ , so important to Kenny, so cripplingly important to him. He knows that from just a few moments in Kota’s company. A life with him would be so easy to have once more.

“Hmm? What thing?” Kota’s smile is bright. A smile that Kenny knows he loved once, a smile he still loves enough to revel in it being aimed at him. He catches Kota by the waist, presses his face against the other angel’s neck. He takes a deep breath, and lets the scent of the other fill his lungs.

“How did Marty fall?” He speaks low and soft, right into Kota’s ear, feels the shiver that runs through him before he realises what Kenny’s asked. The moment the question dawns on him, Kota freezes. He can feel an icy tension rush over him. “One thing, Kota. Tell me.” The other angel pulls back, his sword in hand once more.

“You know.” The blade that points at him waivers, trembles like a leaf in a storm. Never has guessing the right answer left Kenny feeling this _hollow_.

“I don’t know that I do…” Kenny raises his own sword, and feels a comfortable peace fill him. He can win this fight. Kota snarls at him, and lunges forward.

“I should have killed you.” He sneers, as his blade is deflected. “I should have taken more than a wing.”

“Why didn’t you?” Kenny twists, nicking a tiny wound into Kota’s cheek. The other angel swipes the back of his hand over the wound, smearing the blood like war paint. There’s a glimmer in his eyes that Kenny knows he’s seen before, but in a _very_ different context. In that context, the glimmer had been lust too, just a different _kind_ of lust.

“Because as much of a fool as you are,” he laps the blood from the back of his hand, and strikes, catching Kenny on the arm, “I am worse.”

“Love, huh?” Kenny laughs. The battle starts in earnest. A battle that Kenny feels as though he’s fought a thousand times. He knows this deathly dance. He knows where and how Kota will attack. He knows where and how to defend. He knows where and how to land blows on Kota. It’s a battle that rages more than Kenny had expected it to. He’d expected to backfoot and slaughter Kota, but it seems as well as he knows Kota, Kota knows him. Well matched, but a terrible idea. He has the feeling that could describe everything that has ever lain between them. Finally, he lands the killing blow, his blade lodged deeply into Kota’s abdomen. The other angel stares at him with a mixture of pride and annoyance. He crumples to his knees, his hands scrambling at Kenny’s sword. Kenny pulls the blade from him, and guides Kota to the ground gently.

“He fell because you are mine.” Kota whispers, blood flecking his lips as he talks. “Even when I don’t want you, don’t need you.” A cough stops his words briefly, more blood burbling up. “You’re mine.” Kenny carefully wipes the blood from his lips, a strange emptiness is building in the pit of his stomach. When Kota dies, he loses the one thing he really remembers. He knows Kota, and is afraid all he will ever know is Kota. “Don’t forget.” Kota’s last words are rough and barely audible, but he heard them clearly. He’s not sure he ever could forget, would ever want to forget. He’s forgotten enough already. What lay between them may have been terrible, but he has memories of it. Clinging to horrors is an awful idea, but horrors are all Kenny has to ground himself in.  

“Here.” He’s no idea how much time has passed, no idea how long he’s been staring down at the corpse of his former love. He’s no doubt in his mind that he loved Kota. He loved him with everything he was, so fully, so completely that there was an ideal of him built up in his head, and when the real thing failed to meet his expectations, he killed it. “Take it.” He finally looks up from the corpse of his dead love, at the person holding out a potion bottle to him.

“I’m okay.” Kenny bats the bottle away, and stands up. He is okay, physically at least, emotionally he’s a mess. “I have something for you.” Kenny plucks the single black feather from his wing and holds it out to Marty. The fallen angel looks confused briefly, then _pained_. He closes his hands over Kenny’s own, trapping the feather in them.

“Keep it.” Marty closes his eyes for a moment, then offers Kenny a smile so sad it hurts to look at. “I don’t want to be forgotten again, darling.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was my entry in the WrassleSlashLibrary (http://wrassleslashlibrary.tumblr.com/)Halloween contest. It's been re-edited a little, but otherwise the same. :)


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